


Revenge

by Acidqueen (syredronning)



Series: Nasty MU series [5]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Bondage, F/M, M/M, Mirror Universe, Mutilation, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-23
Updated: 2010-09-23
Packaged: 2017-10-12 03:27:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/120263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syredronning/pseuds/Acidqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which McCoy returns to the Enterprise, Spock makes a decision, Kirk makes an error, Spock makes an error, and they get all fucked up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revenge

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fifth part of my nasty MU series, which consists of "Tied", "Revelations", "Obsession I - Enterprise", "Obsession II - Vulcan". It is recommended to read the prequels first.
> 
> Acknowledgment: Special thanks to my betas K'Chaps (three quarters) for her great work and comments and Cait N. (one quarter) for her quick help, and to Janet for some brainstorming! All remaining errors are mine!

Part I

It all had been neatly planned, Kirk thought with pent-up frustration. So long he had waited for McCoy to return - a focal point in his life because this return should also be the moment of Spock's demise - but then everything was different. The man who stepped out of the shuttle

bore little resemblance to the man who had left the Enterprise eight weeks ago. Of course, McCoy had been under the Vulcan's spell, a well-conditioned, happy love slave instead of the former angry drunkard. However, nobody recognized at first the long-haired, extremely thin man in the dark robe that descended the stairs. McCoy's face had developed sharp lines, and his hair had half turned grey in the short time he'd been gone. But what was worse, he stared at them without recognition in his eyes, muttering Vulcan words and fighting against Spock's hand, as the first officer reached to touch him.

Something had definitely gone wrong, and Kirk called his men back who had been ready to assassinate his second-in-command on his signal. For this...destroyed...McCoy, he would need Spock to repair the damage. If it was possible at all. He could hear McCoy asking for Sarek over and over like in trance, and decided to leave at that point; he could always watch the scenes in the Tantalus device.

*

McCoy sat on a chair in the cell they had dumped him in, clamping his hands together. What did they want from him, here on this cold ship? These men...he could faintly remember some of them, but what did they have to do with him? He eyed the padd that lay on the floor. It was full of information: pictures, reports, the curriculum that they said was his. Most of it was in Standard, a language that was painful to him. His head ached when he read it, his eyes burning from the angular signs. And why did they torture him even more by addressing him in it when all he could really bear was the language of the race he belonged to?

"Sarek...Sarek..." he whispered, repeating the mantra he'd uttered for the last hours. But they said he couldn't go back to Vulcan, that his master wouldn't come for him and that he had another life and duty to fulfill on this ship. Medicine -human medicine. He stared down at his hands. That was long ago - that wasn't his true destiny.

The door opened, but he didn't look up. If it were Sarek, he wouldn't want to displease him. If it were his abductors, he didn't want them to see.

"McCoy," someone said, and he turned his head away from the rough sound.

"Makkoi," the voice repeated, now in Vulcan pronunciation. "Look at me!"

There was only one person who could order him around like that, McCoy thought. And this wasn't him. A hand fell on his shoulder, and he jerked to escape the grip. The unknown man looked down at him, dark, angry eyes under upswept brows. "Give me your thoughts," the man said sharply in Vulcan.

McCoy fought against the hand that closed in on his face and connected to his psi points.

"Don't touch me!" he growled in increasing despair. "Sarek will punish you for this. I'm his. Don't...oh, don't..." Words failed him as his body and mind were cornered and finally froze in the face of his enemy.

*

Spock paced along the corridor, one of his guards behind him - two others were ensuring McCoy's safety. What had happened to McCoy would be unthinkable to any other Vulcan, but it was only what Spock had feared all along. Sarek, his own father, had tried to take over his chosen ko-adun. It was yet another severe violation of the rules within the House, after the first one that Sarek had committed by training McCoy as a ma vel'sanosh, a pleasure slave.

He would report it to T'Pau. After all those years in which he'd been handled much like a disgraced member of the House, he would call her and force her to hear him out. But even if she listened to him, there was still the problem that McCoy would not be able to function as CMO at the moment. Spock had been well aware of Kirk's plans of his assassination and had taken counter-measures. But now that Kirk had obviously postponed his plans until he learned more about McCoy's state, Spock had to adapt his schemes, too.

Spock arrived at his cabin, and after a short check on the bodyguard, he entered the room alone. He called the bridge for a long-distance-call to Vulcan and engaged heavy cryptography when they put him through to his House. T'Pau instantly answered, as if she had expected his call.

"Oh matriarch -" he started, but she cut him off.

"Spock, I know that your father has conditioned your ko-adun as a pleasure slave. However, you have allowed the conditioning to remain. You were not able to protect it at all time, as was to be expected. Others have attempted to take control of it. You will remove the conditioning."

He stared at her. "This cannot be done so easily, oh matriarch."

"I am not interested in your opinion, Spock cha'Sarek," she stated icily. "You will remove the conditioning. How you do that is your decision."

Spock raised his palms upwards. "I will do so, oh matriarch," he said with clenched teeth before the connection closed. He got up and paced again. To defy such an open order from the matriarch was impossible. But with the conditioning removed, McCoy would be the same angry, hateful man he'd been in the past, something Spock would not be able to bear.

Suddenly, a solution came to him. It was so easy; he could almost laugh about his own limited thinking. It would have been the right solution all along.

*

Kirk looked up when Spock entered his cabin an hour later.

"Come in. Did you find out what has happened to McCoy?"

Spock took a place opposite him. The Vulcan looked tired and somewhat beaten.

"His mind was taken over by my father. He is not responding well to me or any other person. He is also not able to fulfill his duties at the moment. I looked into his mind...he is mentally deranged, by human standards."

For a moment Kirk played with a disk, lost in thought. "Can you repair it, or whatever it is that Vulcans do when they mess around in other minds? He's still the chief surgeon, and we need him. But if he's permanently unfit, we need to find a replacement and get him off this ship. We don't have a loony-bin here."

Spock laced his fingers tightly. "I think I found a solution. It will take a few days, however, and I would need a test subject."

"Willing or unwilling?" Kirk asked.

"That is irrelevant. However, since I cannot guarantee the outcome of my tests, it should be someone whose demise would not interfere with the ship's business."

Kirk tapped with his forefinger on the table. "There's an execution scheduled for tomorrow afternoon, crewman Morran. You can have him for your tests, and when you're done we can get rid of him."

Spock nodded. "A perfect choice, Captain. I will begin my preparations immediately." He rose from his seat.

Kirk smiled lopsidedly. "Good luck," he said from the bottom of his heart.

*

"You bloody bastard," Marron spat as the Vulcan walked into the brig. Since he was sentenced to death anyway, it wouldn't matter if he told the pointy-eared devil his true opinion. He lay immobilized on the bunk, the restraints holding his body tightly down on the mattress.

When he saw the guards leaving, fear began to rise despite his previous feeling of invulnerability. "What are you up to?" he asked in confusion. But the Vulcan didn't say a word, only looked at him for a moment before he pulled up a chair and sat down next to Marron's head. When his fingers centered at the human's temple, Marron tried to struggle away.

"Don't use your Vulcan brainfuck on me, Spock!" he gasped, but Spock's other hand closed around the back of his head, keeping it in place as if his neck had been plastered.

"God, please no, have mercy," Marron mumbled when he felt alien thoughts piercing into his conscience. The first pain dissolved into dark dumbness as they cut deeper, and then his thinking stopped.

*

"Wake up," Spock repeated and slapped the human hard for the third time. Impatience and curiosity pushed him forward, but although he realized it, he didn't really care. He needed to find out if his first attempt had accomplished its goal.

Mind wiping was a standard technique on Vulcan, but the Vulcan brain was, by nature and training, better organized and thus the wiping without major side effects. On a human where so many areas of the brain were entangled and connected, it was difficult and more likely to damage some vital parts. Spock expected it to be even more complicated on McCoy's mind which had been subjected to so many manipulations by Sarek and himself. A success with the crewman would only prove the quality of his general technique, not that he would be able to achieve the same result with McCoy.

"Sir..." the crewman mumbled as he returned to consciousness.

"Marron, look at me," Spock ordered.

The brown eyes wandered and finally fixed on his. "Yes...?"

"Where are you?"

"I am... I don't know."

"What do you remember?"

"I was...at home, with Jenni..."

"Who is Jenni?"

"My wife."

"How old are you?" Spock asked.

"I'm...twenty-three. It's spring. I'm at home."

Spock, who had the crewman's file memorized, quickly realized that the mind-wipe had removed the memory of the last six months. It was a longer time span than he had expected. Further experiments were required.

The man gasped as Spock pressed his fingers on his face again, delving into the unschooled mind for yet another wiping.

*

It was morning, and Kirk hadn't even reached the bridge yet, much less had coffee. It was definitely one of the worst moments to try what that fucking little Russian tried.

"That was a very stupid idea," Kirk said with a growl as he looked down on the beaten man. "I have let you live because it was alright to go against that spineless mirror captain, but trying to assassinate me is a very stupid idea."

His guards pulled the navigator to his feet, and Kirk planted yet another punch into the battered face. Chekov sagged slightly, but the men held him tightly.

"You're going to the agony booth, you bastard. And then I've got something special for you - you'll get a date with Mr. Spock."

"No," Chekov groaned. "Not him."

"Oh, he won't use the agonizer on you, or cut your little heart out. He's got better things to do." Kirk waved, and his men pulled Chekov down the corridor, his screams resounding through the hallways.

*

"Thank you, Captain," Spock said and looked down on the tied body of the Russian. "I am done with Marron - you can execute him now."

Kirk nodded and ordered his men to take away the crewman who was babbling incomprehensible words, little more than a living vegetable now. He left in their wake.

Spock eyed Chekov. The man had been a promising ensign, and enough of a scientist to undergo some schooling by Spock. A part of the Vulcan regretted the loss of potential that came with the impending procedures. But Chekov's action had been stupid and could almost be considered suicidal. The captain had made it clear that Chekov would have to die for it, so Spock had no qualms about using the navigator for further exercising his mind-wipe techniques.

Kirk had wanted to get an estimate of how long it would take until Spock was ready; Spock had given him twice the time he actually estimated. To wipe human minds was a rather crude, rough procedure, and he was still not quite able to predict the results. But he and McCoy were running out of time; Kirk's behavior over the last few months had already told everyone that the first officer wasn't Kirk's favorite anymore, and he was slowly losing the control he had over the crew. The officers tended to give Spock brash replies, and even the agonizer had proven to be ineffective at times. The crew onboard the ISS Enterprise had a finely tuned feeling for the real status of a person, which Spock usually had used for his advantage; now that he was on the shady side of it, he despised it.

But this behavior would end once he got rid of Kirk, and everything was prepared for that. They were steering into Tholian space, an area that was unknown to the Empire, but with which Vulcan had longstanding connections. Spock would not only get rid of the captain, but also certain other crewmembers. It would be a moment of triumph.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he looked down at Chekov again. He would have preferred to keep him; maybe, if he was careful, the man could be useful after the mind-wipe. The Russian gave him a pleading gaze, groaning against the ball gag as Spock drew closer. Spock could have tried to appease him, advise him to cooperate, but he needed unwilling victims just like McCoy would be.

He put his fingers on the nerve endings, enjoying the feel of them connecting to the undisciplined chaos behind, as it once again proved his Vulcan superiority.

Chekov's mind screamed.

*

Kirk sat in front of the Tantalus device, his eyes on Spock and Chekov, his finger looming over the formerly lethal button for no good reason. He still loved to touch it, remembering the good times when he had been able to make his enemies vanish in the blink of an eye. One little push and Spock would have been gone, removed from his life and this ship.

Well, he had other means, and his guards were ready and prepared to get rid of Spock, once the Vulcan fixed McCoy's problem.

At times Kirk wondered if he should really wait for that, but he had to - McCoy wasn't able to work in the state he was in, and the doctor was of no use to Kirk if he kept playing a Vulcan slave. There was no space for bed pets on the ISS, not even for captains. He would give Spock the time to wipe McCoy's memory, but not a second longer.

There was blood on Chekov's face - his nose was bleeding - and Kirk frowned. It didn't look like a very successful trial run. Spock clearly didn't get the hang of the procedure as quickly as they both had thought. Well, they'd find more canon fodder for the Vulcan, if need be, as long as Kirk would get McCoy in the end.

There was a ring at his door, and on his signal, M'Benga walked in. Kirk still strongly disliked the man, but due to his temporary position, M'Benga had become an important ally.

"He's still trying?" the dark man said as he saw the Vulcan on screen. "Chapel and I could always perform a little brain surgery on his slave. I'm sure a lobotomy would improve McCoy's state." He laughed cruelly, but the laughter died on his lips as he saw Kirk's blazing gaze.

"I hope you have a good reason to show up or I'm going to order some lobotomy on you, M'Benga."

"You wanted the latest crew results," M'Benga said stiffly and offered him a padd.

"Put it on the table," Kirk said sharply. "I know you'd like to get rid of McCoy," he added and turned to face him fully. "If you even think of touching him, you're a dead man. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." M'Benga's jaw tightened, and he rushed out of the door.

Kirk took a bottle off the nearest shelf and poured himself a drink, his eyes once more resting on the Vulcan's back. He'd give Spock two more days, then he wanted to see results.

*

The next afternoon Spock sat at his science console on the bridge of the Enterprise, eyeing the first Tholian buoy on screen. Tholians had perfected the peaceful invitations the buoys sent into space, but they were a fake. Once the guests drew closer, the Tholians would close their web around the spaceships and never set them free again.

"The species seems to be on a mediocre level of development," Spock lied coolly. "The closest planet has a population of only one point five million, but shows large deposits of dilithium crystals."

Feeding the captain's endless greed would stimulate Kirk to take risks. It would also keep him occupied for the next few hours.

"We have been invited to dinner at 1800," Uhura said. Kirk looked at Spock. "We can always start nicely, can't we?" he said and then nodded to the communication officer. "Acknowledge the date."

Spock left his console and stepped to Kirk's side. "I will prepare information for a briefing," Spock said quietly. "And after the meeting with the Tholians, I will attempt to wipe McCoy's mind."

"Why today?" Kirk asked with a frown.

"We are running out of time," Spock said. "The conditioning will be harder to remove the longer it remains in place and has time to solidify."

Kirk eyed him critically, rubbing his upper lip. "But first, the briefing."

"Of course. It will be ready in an hour. I will have additional information you will find interesting."

Kirk nodded and Spock left the bridge. Once the door of the turbolift closed behind him, Spock took a deep breath. Now he had to act fast; the briefing had been prepared since yesterday, which gave him one hour to perform the mind-wipe on McCoy. He exited on the level of the cells, informing his guards that he was not to be disturbed by anyone. Then he called two of his department assistants and sharply ordered them to deliver the information for the briefing to his desk in fifty-five minutes. His voice left them shaking; they surely wouldn't contact him a second earlier than necessary.

When he entered McCoy's cell, the human didn't look up; the conditioning was in place just like on the first day. Driven by the time pressure and the increasing need to get back his ko-adun, Spock quickly stepped close and forced McCoy from the chair down on his knees. Surprised, the human didn't defend himself for a moment - that was enough for Spock to sink down opposite him and press his fingertips to McCoy's temple. He was instantly inside, ready to perform what was necessary.

*

It was Spock's ingrained time sense that brought him out of the meld; he shook his head, trying to regain full control of himself. Then he met the human's gaze. McCoy stared at him.

"Who are you?" McCoy whispered. "Where am I?"

Spock froze. At least, McCoy spoke English, but it was obvious that his hurried wipe had once again failed to show the intended result. However, he didn't have time left now - at the door, a guard already gestured at him.

"I will explain later," Spock said and pressed his hand into McCoy's shoulder. The human was rendered unconscious, and Spock cradled his body. He lifted the lightweight and carried it to the bed, carefully arranging his ko-adun. Then he went to the door.

"I used a nerve pinch on him," he explained to his Vulcan guards. "We need to get him to sickbay later, but not yet. Wait until you hear from me. In the meantime, if he awakes, stun him. I need to be the person he wakes up to."

The guards nodded, and he hastily left for the meeting. Kirk was already waiting for him, together with the other department heads. Spock felt their critical gazes resting on him, but summoned up a façade of cool control. He only had to live through a few more hours - then he would be rid of the captain forever.

*

The meeting with the Tholians was deceitfully peaceful, their rural, humanoid appearance a cover for their high technological level. They hid well that they knew Vulcans and treated Spock like the other members of the party. But everything was arranged, and he allowed himself a smile when he walked onto the balcony of the Tholian council building to enjoy the air.

The planet reminded him of Halkan, and it brought back the memories of the evening before Kirk had succeeded to bond him to McCoy against his will. Much had happened since then, but tonight Spock would finally be able to make Kirk pay for his actions.

The Vulcan felt the captain drawing closer until they stood side by side. "Looks a bit like Halkan," Kirk said and leaned over the balustrade of the balcony, looking down to the ground level. "I've talked with fleet command. They want us to annex the planet first thing tomorrow unless the Tholians are willing to give us half of their yearly dilithium yield."

"As was to be expected."

Kirk straightened his golden uniform shirt, then in a surprising move, he pulled a small phaser and pointed it at Spock's chest. "We were a good team once, Spock," he said. "I wish we could work together forever...but it won't happen."

Spock rose to his full height and raised a brow. "What about McCoy?"

"You had your change, and ruined it." Kirk laughed cruelly. "You proved once more that you're just a freak, not worthy of your Vulcan bloodline. I wish Sarek could've seen your lousy attempts at that mind-wipe."

Spock clenched his teeth and assessed the situation. Kirk's guards were lingering at the door to the main hall, screening them from the Tholians and the other members of the Enterprise group. In his sash, Spock felt the dagger pressing against his hip, but he wouldn't be fast enough to beat Kirk in the human's preferred game. This balcony was destined to be the place of his death. He had to buy some time.

"What if I offered you McCoy?" he said. "We could share him."

"Share McCoy?" Kirk laughed, a harsh sound. "Now that's something new. No, thanks. This time, I want to have him all for myself."

There was some turmoil coming from the hall, and Spock could see the guards moving, but Kirk had his gaze fixed on him, the phaser steady.

The noises grew louder; there was clearly a fight going on.

"What did you pay them to start this?" Kirk asked. "Not that it'll help you. You'll be a dead man in a second."

"Then why do you wait?" Spock asked, leaning with his back against the balustrade, a picture of control. He dropped his arms onto the handrail, his hands loosely at the level of his hips.

"Don't you want to know the full story of how you got bonded, you and McCoy?" Kirk asked.

"No."

"No?"

"It is irrelevant," Spock said calmly.

Kirk shifted the phaser in his hand. The turmoil seemed to have ended as quickly as it started, leaving only silence in the air. The guards were gone.

Spock tilted his head. "You should use your chance, Kirk. Or you might ruin it - as humans tend to do." Something was moving down on them, quietly and with lines as thin as a spider's web. Not wanting to attract his attacker's interest in the thing above him, Spock stared at Kirk's boots.

"I won't," Kirk said. "Look at me, Spock."

"Why should I?" the Vulcan said without lifting his gaze.

"Because I want to see your eyes when I kill you."

"You won't."

"Look at me, you co-"

When Spock looked up, the white net had already fully descended on the human, leaving him as one entangled, stunned prey.

*

When Kirk awoke, he lay on his side on the ground. His arms and legs were tightly chained with cuffs, and all he could do was turn his aching head. He was lying on a little plateau in a mountain area; it didn't really look like the Tholian planet, but who knows...

A figure walked around him until Kirk faced the black boots. "Are you awake?" Spock asked coolly.

"Sure, you traitor," Kirk pressed out. "What are you up to, you Vulcan bastard?"

"I will remove you from the Enterprise and from our lives. And in the process, I will also get rid of Sulu, M'Benga and Chapel. It is long overdue."

"You won't succeed, asshole." Kirk glared at him. "Do you think these peasants can keep me from returning and killing you with my own hands?

"You will not be given over to the Tholians, but to him." Spock stepped aside to let another figure pass.

"Kor!" Kirk gasped as he recognized the sturdy figure of the Klingon captain he'd once met on Organia. Their clash had caused two months of war over that useless, dead world. "You fucking bastard."

"Oh yes, I'll fuck you well enough, Kirk," the Klingon laughed, giving the human a kick in his side.

Spock moved away, but then turned once more. "I almost forgot to tell you, Captain - I bargained with them to let you live for at least three months. There will be no way to end your pain prematurely by provocation."

Kirk spit at him, but the slick drop missed the Vulcan's boots.

Kor waved at his men. "Time to beam up." He looked at the Vulcan. "I'm happy to make another deal with you any time, Captain Spock."

Spock twitched his lips. "Improbable, but not impossible." He opened the communicator.

"One to beam up." Under the gaze of Kirk's blazing eyes he dissolved, faintly smiling as he materialized onboard.

*

"I still remember so little," McCoy said with a sigh a day later, eyeing the man that sat next to his bed in sickbay. "It feels weird."

Spock captured his hand. "You will remember all you need to know, my one. In a few months, your head injury will only be a minor episode in your life."

McCoy weakly pressed the Vulcan's hand. "And we are really together?"

"We are," Spock said.

"Tell me how we got together," McCoy murmured sleepily. "Tell me everything."

"Tomorrow, my one," Spock said and caressed the pale face. It would take some weeks for the human to fully recover, but they had time, now that the captain and the others were out of the way.

Under Spock's calming touch, McCoy relaxed and finally slipped into sleep.

***

Part 2

Admiral Nogura of the Imperial Fleet sat on the table of a borrowed office at the space station P4, waiting for a special guest. When he turned in his seat, the panorama windows gave a free view into space and to the dock where the Enterprise was currently laying. The flagship looked good, barely a scratch on the silver halls - which directly had to do with the way things had been run there over the last weeks.

He adjusted his golden tunic with the long sleeves, his medals prominently on his chest - the time for showing his upper arms was over, now that his muscles were losing their former chiseled looks. Golden shirts were something for brash young captains. Although he had to admit that it fit the new arrival at his door equally well.

"Captain Spock." Nogura invitingly waved his hand. "Please take a seat."

The Vulcan entered the room, while his personal guards had to wait outside. He looked at him guardedly. "I was not aware of my promotion, Admiral."

"I may be a bit early, but your take-over of the Enterprise doesn't leave us much other route anyway - and you've got quite a reputation of your own. It's the logical decision."

Spock sat down, not without briefly examining the chair in front of the table. Nogura smiled. "I've no intention to get rid of you. But I admit to curiosity..."

He pushed a button, and Spock felt the doors shutting air-tight and the tingling of a damping field brushing over his skin.

"Curiosity, Sir?" Spock leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers. The golden tunic went well with his dark hair and beard, giving him a rather distinguished look.

"So many years, Spock, you and Kirk have been a great team. The best we ever had, I think," Nogura said. "What happened that made you kill him?"

"The Captain and three other valuable crewmembers vanished in Tholian space without my interference -" Spock started, but Nogura cut him off.

"I wouldn't be admiral if I couldn't read between the lines. You were behind that, don't deny it. But why, Spock? Tell me."

Spock tilted his head, pondering. Nogura locked on the Vulcan's dark eyes as if to pull all his secrets from there.

"Has it anything to do with McCoy?" Nogura stirred deeper. He had read reports from various sources, and it boiled down to Spock and McCoy being unwilling partners, tied together by one of those Vulcan mind gimmicks Nogura didn't know much about, but had a healthy respect for.

Spock frowned. "If you want the truth, Sir...the captain intended to claim McCoy. As he would have only achieved this over my death, it simply was a question of his or mine."

"Is McCoy that important to you?" Nogura pushed the topic, even though he saw Spock's gaze sharpening, the frown increasing. "I've got to know where the new captain of the Enterprise stands, Spock. Where your priorities lie."

"My private life is of no concern to you," Spock stated coolly.

"As long as it involves your subordinate chief medical officer and leads to the premature demise of one of our best captains, it is."

Two pairs of eyes battled without words; in the end, Spock yielded under the admiral's stare and said, "McCoy is my ko-adun, my bondmate by Vulcan laws. Any attempt of third parties to lay hands on him will lead to serious action on my part - as Vulcan and ISS laws grant me. Other than that, we are fully functional in our duties for the Empire, as the reports of the last two months should have shown you."

"Yes, indeed, they do," Nogura said. He relaxed in his chair. "Now that we've settled this, I'll come back to your promotion. A small ceremony is scheduled for tonight, nineteen hundred hours local time. You and your partner are expected to appear there. You can bring two of your own security guards, but only one visible phaser per person."

The Vulcan nodded briefly. "We will attend. Is there anything else, Admiral?"

"Not for now, Captain. You are dismissed." Nogura pressed the button again, and the fields were lifted.

Spock rose from his chair and made the traditional Empire hand sign before turning to leave.

Nogura eyed the slim back until it had disappeared behind the closing doors, then he rotated to his console and called up the available material on Vulcans again. Obviously, some people had dangerously misread the situation between Spock and McCoy. It was his business now to find out if the wrong interpretations had been intentional or an oversight from culturally ignorant sources. Whatever had happened out there on the Enterprise could happen on any other ship with Vulcans onboard...

*

Ten hours later the hall in the high security area was empty again, the reception long over and the reminders cleaned away. Only Nogura still sat in a sofa corner, in front of him a bottle of Orion wine. He appeared to be oblivious of the woman who walked across the room, but she knew it was only disguise.

"Nyota," he acknowledged her presence without looking up.

"Sir." She slipped on the cushioned seat next to him, carefully arranging her short skirt for optimal appeal. He poured her a glass without asking, and she took it, taken with the look of her long, red fingernails against its flicker of amber. She hoped Nogura liked it, too. Not that she believed he cared for her longer than the night, no matter how many nights they spent together. The foremost thing this liaison gained her was the enhanced risk of a premature death - but that was part of her job anyway. She'd survived so far; she intended to keep it that way.

"How was the reception?" she said, as he remained in silence.

"Acceptable. If you ignore that nobody knew how to handle McCoy. Not my idea of a Vulcan lady," Nogura replied caustically. "Cheers," he said, meeting her gaze for the first time. They raised their glasses and drank, he in big gulps, she only taking a sip.

"What does the crew think about them?" he asked.

Uhura shrugged. "It's been like that for a while already, so it kind of grew on us. Besides, nobody crosses Spock if he intents to survive."

"And McCoy?"

"He's still doing his job - well, I think so, because there are as many patients dying in sickbay as in the past." She chuckled. "He couldn't work right after his return from Vulcan, but Spock fixed that. That was the time when I really realized the tension between Kirk and Spock. They were in a power play over McCoy. I don't know what went into Kirk. It's not as if he couldn't have chosen from enough women onboard, even with Marlena dead. It was a weird obsession."

"Kirk underestimated Spock."

"Yes. And Spock took the chance to get rid of him and some other crewmembers." Uhura took another sip, enjoying the warmth it brought. Without heating, the room was too cold for the outfit she wore. "Are they dead? Kirk, Sulu, M'Benga and Chapel?"

Nogura shrugged. "I don't know. We sent investigators to the area, but they didn't find anything, neither bodies nor any proof otherwise."

"Would you even want to get Kirk back?" Uhura asked. In the fleet, it was usually survive or die, and that Kirk had been stupid enough to get overpowered by the Vulcan didn't speak of his worth to the fleet anymore. But there had always been rumors that Kirk was in Nogura's special favor.

"Depends," he said.

She didn't dare to ask on what, and took a bigger gulp from her drink. The alcohol was beginning to reach her brain, taking the edge from her usually guarded life. With Nogura, she was either totally secure from any attempted assassination or doomed right ahead. So for the upcoming fun, it was better to approximate his level of inebriation.

He straightened his back. "For now we've decided that Spock can keep his command. However, we put it in your capable hands to supervise his actions and take necessary measures if he fails the Empire."

She raised her carefully picked brows. "Necessary as in...?"

"Contacting me, if possible. Eliminating him, if necessary."

"Him and McCoy, in that case?"

Nogura shrugged. "If you think the Enterprise can be without a CMO for a while - we've got a shortage of physicians after some rebels bombed our training center."

Uhura leaned forward. "Is it true what they say about the impeding...decay of the empire...?" she whispered, aware that it was major subordination to even think of that theme.

"If you interpret two dozens dead people as a revolution, then we're in real danger," he replied dryly.

Uhura shook her head. Another question came to her mind. "What should I do if Kirk turns up?"

"Again, it will be up to you. But we can't give him the Enterprise back for now, you can tell him that if he appears - which I don't expect. He lost too much of his reputation." Nogura emptied his glass and put it aside. "He'd have to settle in the HQ for a while, until things get smoothed over. And Spock is still Sarek's son, even if he doesn't seem to care a lot for him. I don't want to lose an ally over the personal fighting of two officers on a starship."

"Acknowledged, Sir."

"Stop sir-ing me, Nyota," he said, and took the drink out of her hand, placing it on the table. Then he slipped his hands under her top and began fondling her breasts. "Call me Shiro."

*

"A weird evening," McCoy said, and peeled off the heavy, ornamented Vulcan robe, which Spock had insisted that he wore for the ceremony instead of the formal uniform. It was possible by Fleet standards, and so he had done it, of course. Probably Spock wanted to declare right away for all what McCoy's status was. And McCoy didn't mind, rather felt relieved. The last time Scotty had taken the freedom of coming too close to him - only a week ago - Spock had broken two of the engineer's fingers. Since then Scott remained in a secure distance, something McCoy had accepted as inevitable. Spock was protective and possessive like all Vulcan men, and if it had been in his power, he would have put McCoy into a sealed house where only women could enter. McCoy had read of those houses in databanks, but never seen one. Sometimes, they sounded like heaven, compared to his daily work and the constant, imminent danger onboard of a starship. But usually, they sounded more like a golden cage and prison. He, at least, didn't mind having a job here.

"They were unsure about the protocol," Spock said, removing his uniform.

"About me, you mean," McCoy stated without edge as he hung up the robe.

"They will adjust." Spock pulled McCoy close and removed the silver barrette in his hair. The braided plaits remained in form until Spock laced his fingers into them, freeing the strands. McCoy's hair reached over his shoulders by now, but it would take years until it would have the length for one of the elaborate, womanly hair styles that towered above its wearer's head. Something to look forward, Spock thought, as he ran his hands through it again and again.

McCoy closed his eyes and smiled. "I love it when you do that," he whispered.

"I know," Spock replied. "I enjoy it, too." He took hold of the hair, tilting McCoy's head into a kiss. McCoy yielded and sagged against him, his breathing accelerating. As he released him, McCoy took a deep breath and stripped.

Spock removed his own remaining clothes. Seconds later, they lay on their bed.

"My one..." Spock murmured and rolled over McCoy, pinning him onto the mattress. His hands laced with McCoy's, keeping them from stimulating his skin. McCoy playfully struggled against him. "Sometimes I expect you to chain me to the bed," he joked. "If my circlets had rings, it would be easy for you."

Spock released McCoy's hands, gripping his wrists instead where smooth metal cuffs lay around the warm skin. "Why should I chain you down, my love? You would not want to escape me anyway. And I've told you, they are simply designed like the ones my folk used for their slaves in older times."

McCoy rubbed his belted groin against him. "But I am your slave...your love slave..." They kissed again, long, intense kisses that caused McCoy's face to flush and his heartbeat to quicken.

"Oh, Spock..." he whispered, and Spock let him loose, allowing him to dishevel the perfect hair. Then he let his hands run from the Vulcan's forehead down to the chin, finally ending at the lips. He stroked them softly, until Spock captured his fingertips with his teeth. He bit down until McCoy gasped from the erotic pain, then released them.

"Ready?" Spock asked.

"Oh yes." McCoy stretched invitingly.

Spock leaned over. McCoy arched against him. "Take me, my love."

"I will do so," Spock said. He knelt between the legs and pulled them high so that they came to rest on his chest. With one powerful stride, he entered McCoy to the hilt, impaling him.

McCoy began drowning in bliss, and the last thing he marveled about was his luck to have become the mate of such a fantastic man.

*

Needing little sleep, Spock was up already at 0450. He read some reports and then settled down and had a cup of tea. His eyes rested on McCoy, who peacefully slept in their shared bed. Only a thin blanket covered his body, as the cabin was overly warm by human standards, and Spock's gaze followed the line from the head over the curved body down to the feet that peeked out from under the fabric.

It was two months, three weeks and one day since McCoy's return from the Vulcan, and Spock remembered well the state of confusion McCoy had been in, recognizing nobody, only pleading and shouting for Sarek in Vulcan words. But with the mind-wipe, everything had changed for the better, even though the doctor had forgotten the last two years. He had forgotten about the start of the Enterprise mission, his career on board and the former captain, James T. Kirk. Thankfully, he had also forgotten all about the bonding, the conditioning by Sarek, and his stay on Vulcan.

In the end, it had been easy to implant new, merrier memories of how their relationship had come into existence. No further conditioning had been necessary once McCoy had accepted the suggestion that it had been his own choice to become Spock's ko-adun, and so their personal life took a peaceful course without any struggle or adversary.

Looking back, he should have used the mind-wipe right after their unwanted bonding. But at that time, he had not realized that he wanted to keep McCoy - today, he couldn't imagine living without him.

Spock put the cup aside. This was a new day, the first that saw him as official captain of the Enterprise. It was to be celebrated.

The bed was warm as he slipped into it, but McCoy's body was warmer. His mate might playfully lament about the early waking, but not for long - Spock would assure that.

*

"I hate it," Scott murmured and climbed out of bed. He hated the fact that Spock was officially captain; he hated to see how the Empire's rules of discipline were slowly corrupted by the Vulcan's new rules; and he hated that he couldn't simply punish that idiot Kyle anymore when he was pissed about him.

He had suffered under his own commanding officers for decades - now that he was head of the engineering department, it was his right to be the one to make those miserable bastards jump. And Kyle was his preferred victim. A whining worm that should never have gone into engineering, considering how little the idiot knew about machines. Only a few months ago, Spock would've been the first one to use the agonizer on Kyle - now Scott was forced to write a report and wait for an approval of the intended punishment by Spock.

Yes, Scott hated this. And he hated Spock. They'd gone along well in the past, but ever since Spock had McCoy taken as his fucktoy - or whatever - Spock was jealous as hell. He'd only been standing next to McCoy and chatting with him lately, but it had been enough reason for the Vulcan to break his fingers. Now they were still stiff, probably because the medical department hadn't treated them right.

Scott had expected to be killed after that incident, but Spock's new weakness had shown already then - there had been some more guards, some more surveillance of his department, but that had been all. The Spock of the past wouldn't have blinked to have him eliminated one night or to send him on a suicide mission. And it would've been better for Spock in the long run, Scott thought as he stepped under the shower. Because one day soon, he would find a way to get rid of the bastard - and McCoy.

He didn't have anything against McCoy, but the doctor wasn't a trustworthy friend anymore, only a brainwashed plaything. Uhura and he would get rid of them and then they could go back to working on an ISS starship - one that owned its reputation.

*

Spock looked at the screen of the Tantalus device, watching Scott take a sonic shower. He always zapped through all the officers' quarters in the morning while reading the news on padd in his lap. He doubted that he'd ever learn much via the device, but it gave him a feeling of control. Since his own rules substituted the control by rank and force with more sensible disciplinary instruments, there was not much left to give him this feeling.

He had checked on the Tantalus device once he'd taken over Kirk's cabin, but had learned nothing really valuable about it. It was definitely alien technology, and a wonder that it had worked on their ship at all. But it had been destroyed (by Marlena, Spock guessed, who had been killed for that) and so it was only a kind of enhanced surveillance device much like an unseen camera now.

He dialed further, taking a look into Uhura's cabin. She was under the shower too, but he barely looked at her body, more wrapped up in his thoughts. He knew that she and Scott had a liaison going on, but didn't mind it. Both of them had little interest in taking over the ship, which was the main reason he'd let Scott live. The other one was his unique way of handling the ship's technologies. There wasn't anyone better in the whole fleet. It was worth the security risk the engineer posed.

In their own shower, Spock could hear McCoy prepare for the day. Soon afterwards, the human stepped out of the bathroom, nude except for the closed belt. He toweled his hair and put its little key into the box.

"How do you feel?" Spock asked.

"Extremely good," McCoy answered. "I had two little inflamed areas at my groin, but after cleansing and a little regenerator appliance, they're gone."

"That is satisfying," Spock said, not able to put in words just how satisfied he really was to see McCoy put himself into the ko-adun position. He even could trust him with the belt's key, which allowed McCoy to care for his cleanness and health, instead of engaging yet another fallible crew member that would try to take advantage of his spouse as in the past.

Spock's penis stirred and elongated.

"Come closer," he said. He leaned back in his chair and positioned his legs on the floor to stabilize his lower body.

McCoy smiled. "Of course." The towel was quickly discarded, and then McCoy stood over Spock and slowly lowered himself onto the Vulcan's erection, careful not to let the belt's edges get in the way. He impaled himself fully without problems, then lifted his hips up again.

"Do you like it?" McCoy purred. Spock only nodded, not interested in speaking for now. McCoy moved up and down, fucking himself on Spock's dick. It was heaven, Spock thought. His chest heaved with every deep breath, but otherwise he kept still, enjoying the way his mate worked for their satiation. Tension crawled from his upper legs to his groin and into his stomach muscles; his hands clamped around the chair's armrests as he sank deeper into it, making more room for McCoy's movement. And just when he thought he couldn't bear the sensation anymore, he erupted into his orgasm, pulling McCoy with him through the bond. McCoy sagged against him and he closed his arms around him, holding him tightly until their shivers ebbed.

"We have to start with our duties soon," Spock then said gently. He helped McCoy up and cleaned them both.

"I know," McCoy said as he donned his uniform. "What a pity. Sometimes I wish we were on a planet far, far away from the Empire."

Spock caressed McCoy's face. "There are moments in which I share your wish. However, you know about my plans, and we can only influence the development of the Empire from here."

"I know." McCoy bowed his head and kissed Spock's hand. "It's just a dream, and impossible to bring into realization."

"Yes," Spock agreed, but pondered it for a second. Maybe they were entitled to a little vacation...but then he shook his head. As captain of a starship, taking shore leave meant to forgo his captaincy - he would never be able to assume this position again, as his subordinate officers would surely take over the very instant he had left for a few days.

No beaches to walk on at this time, he decided and put on the golden tunic and sash, shutting off the Tantalus screen on their way out.

*

"Commander Scott, you reported Kyle for the fourth time this week." Usually, Spock reprimanded his second-in-command in his own ready room. However, he had enough of the man's stubbornness and verve to go against his latest changes in board discipline. Today, this would happen right on the bridge. The accused Scot stood left of to the command chair, ramrod straight and hands crossed behind his back, avoiding Spock's eyes. There was barely a day on which the engineer didn't report members of his department for punishment, and there was always the same name on top of the list.

"If you are unsatisfied with Mr. Kyle, he will be transferred to another department or off the Enterprise. However, if it is only your personal emotional situation which led you to seek a scapegoat, I advise you to find a better way of acting out your frustration."

"Yes, Sir," Scott said with barely hidden anger. "In this case, Sir, please remove Kyle from my department."

"It will be done. I shall launch a transfer request with Fleet Command immediately." Spock eyed Scott from head to toe. "Commander, so far our working cooperation onboard this vessel has been productive. Do not force me to change the command structure." The threat was obvious. Maybe Spock's decision to spare Scott from death in the past had been a mistake, but it was still remediable.

"Dismissed, Commander."

Scott turned on his heels and stomped into the turbo lift. Spock could feel Uhura's eyes drilling holes into his back.

"Navigator," he said and looked at Z'te, a Vulcan lieutenant that had joined the Enterprise crew as a substitution for Sulu. "Mark 23,4, warp 2."

"Mark 23,4, warp 2, yes, Sir," the young man repeated and pressed some buttons.

"Weapon control," Spock said and looked at Chekov. The Russian was still not his former self, but had improved enough to perform his bridge duty. Spock had told him a story about a head injury, similar to the one he had told McCoy. Thanks to this, Chekov could look at him in trust and obedience now, ready for his captain's order. "Run the standard tests. I expect us to need the weaponry system once we enter the Aldebaran sector."

Spock heaved an inaudible sigh and felt for the dagger in his sash. It was still a long way to go until this crew would adjust to his changes.

*

"In every revolution, there's one man with a vision," the man dressed like Captain Kirk, but not acting anything like, said to Spock.

"I will consider it," Spock said, and allowed the group to leave.

Scott stopped the replay.

"I can't believe it," Uhura gasped.

Scott started the video once more.

"In every revolution, there's one man with a vision," the man from the parallel universe said again insistently, his determination traveling even over the little screen. And Spock, their Spock, replied, "I will consider it."

The picture froze as Scott put the replay on hold again.

They sat in a little corner in engineering that was protected by isolation and distortion fields. Nevertheless, Uhura involuntarily looked around, checking if anyone saw them watching this video.

Spock would kill them if he found out.

"Where did you get it from?"

Scott closed the little display. "It was encrypted in Kirk's databank. But it's obviously a reconstruction of the original transport bay surveillance file, which had been erased. Probably by Spock himself."

Uhura frowned. "Why didn't you ask for my help with the decryption?"

"Didn't want to pull you into anything before I knew it was worth it." Scott put a hand on her bare shoulder. "Sorry for that."

She eyed him critically for a moment, but then she accepted his explanation. All Scott wanted was to have her in his bed and Spock out of the central chair, and she was all with him in these plans. Not the least because she'd be captain then.

Female captains were rare, but she was made of other wood than most of the women in the fleet. She'd never slept her way up, which Sulu had had to learn the hard way - well, maybe with exception to Nogura, but he was a big shark in the pool and worth the investment. With Kirk and Spock battling over McCoy, she had gotten the perfect opening for her own advancement. She would probably have killed Kirk on the long run, but Spock's timing was better and his need for revenge so strong that she got rid of more than just the captain.

Her waiting had paid out, and it would pay out this time too.

"I have a plan," she whispered and put her hand on Scott's lower arm. "I wonder what you think of it..."

*

Something had changed onboard the Enterprise over the next two weeks. At first, Spock thought it was only caused by the new changes he had made, forbidding cruel punishments and weapons for the crew members (except the officers), but it had to be something more. Receptive for the moods of his human crew, he felt the sensation almost creeping up his spine - someone was planning something against him. He couldn't pinpoint it, but ordered stronger control for the likely candidates, namely Scott, Uhura, DeSato, and some of the lieutenants.

It showed no results so far, but the feeling of something 'being in the air,' as humans called it, was stronger than ever, and so he was relieved when T'Ko arrived in the afternoon. She was a Vulcan healer, one of the few he trusted. Without house and outcast from Vulcan, she had chosen to work for people who were willing to pay her services, which made her more reliable than anyone driven by personal bonds. T'Ko was about Spock's age and only slightly shorter, with aristocratic features and long black, braided hair. Her robe was brown with golden Vulcan writings down the front and it waved softly as she glided down the transport platform. If Spock had not been bonded with McCoy, she would have been an acceptable concubine. As it was, she was a perfect assistant to his plans.

Once the first greeting was over, he accompanied her to sickbay where they sat down in McCoy's office. Spock introduced McCoy, then switched on all the jamming devices he had personally built into this room. They had sensitive topics to discuss.

"What do you need me for, S'Haile?" T'Ko asked without further ado.

Spock took the word. "We need to ensure that the crew is adapting more easily to the changes onboard. Formerly, discipline was kept by brutal force and punishment; now we want to go a more humane road, but the crew isn't used to keep their aggression under control. We need someone to help us achieve this goal."

She tilted her head. "And what do you expect from me?"

"First of all, general lessons on emotional control," Spock said. "Second, personal counseling of crew members who injured colleagues or overreacted; if need be, their aggressions should be kept under a tighter control. And third, it is possible that we need information that can only be gained by telepathy or in a mind meld."

"Mind melds with humans are rather unpleasant," T'Ko said.

"I will compensate you adequately for your burden," Spock said and stated a number.

Her eyebrows rose. "It is a generous offer."

"You will also be a special member of the crew and assigned to the medical department of my ko-adun. You will only report to us and get one personal guard."

She looked from Spock to McCoy and back. "This is very acceptable. I will stay onboard and work for you."

"Then let me show you to your quarters," Spock said. With a last nod to McCoy, he led her into the corridor. An ally, at last.

*

The arrival of the mysterious healer made everyone nervous, the guilty as much as the innocent. Or maybe there wasn't such a thing as innocent on board of an ISS starship, and they all felt that their fates lay in the hand of the Vulcan woman whose lessons they were forced to attend now.

It didn't really keep the problem at bay that the crew was losing its edge when it came to battles. They perceived Spock, for all his Vulcan façade, as a weaker man than Kirk, and the alliance with McCoy as a rather weird inclination - even though nobody had wondered about the captain's women that came and left - often feet first - Kirk. Kirk's behavior had been setting the goals of every young lieutenant; everyone wanted to reach the point where they could just take what they wanted. Spock had no such reputation, and his living example was full of flaws and weaknesses. Instead of devastating planets and offering cities for plundering, he engaged more and more in negotiations. Everyone wondered just for how long the High Command would turn a blind eye on this behavior.

Spock may have been a diplomat, but not on board of his own ship.

The situation brought a big smile to Uhura's face whenever she thought about it.

*

T'Ko sat in McCoy's office, staring at the back of the man who was Spock's ko-adun. He seemed content, even happy in the situation he was in, but she couldn't believe it was real. She had yet to see a ko-adun who didn't detest his role after a while, due to the control their husband had over them and the way they had to give up their own male sexuality. She was tempted to scan his mind, but he was untouchable; Spock would not hesitate to break her neck if he would find out.

She looked over her padd and made some notes about crewman Johnson. There had been eight members of the crew brought to her so far that didn't have their emotions under control; she had...helped them, she liked to call it. Human brains were rather chaotic but also weak, and that made it easy. It was like pushing her hands into soft dough and molding it into another kind of pastry, a softer, mellower one. Sometimes she could even feel the squishy material between her fingers, especially when little pieces of it spilled out and dropped to the ground.

There were always losses in the process.

How these reformed crewmembers should be able to keep on functioning in this society and fleet now, though, was beyond her grasp. Spock must have something special in mind, something more profound than changing just a few persons. He must be preparing his personal army, tied to him by mind control. She knew he was ruthless; no Vulcan and especially none that had achieved such a high position as his would hesitate to remove those that were in his way. He only chose Vulcan weapons for it and applied them to humans.

He would fail.

*

"We need to be more careful," Scott whispered into the crook of Uhura's neck as he half lay over her, fondling her breasts. They could either hide in engineering or right in Spock's view. And in his cabin it was a lot more fun.

She moaned as he sucked one nipple. Then she whispered back, "His time is running out, darling. I've made contact; we'll rendezvous within the next three days."

Scott was surprised, but kept on caressing her bosom with his left, while his other hand slipped deeper. "So fast?"

"Yes." She folded one leg over his hips, pulling him closer. His erection grew and poked her groin, not yet having the optimal angle.

He moved up and kissed her. "I'll do anything you want, lass," he whispered in her ear.

"I expect nothing less from you," she replied and eased herself in a better position.

He fucked like he did everything else: perfect technique, but a bit weak on the interpersonal side.

But that was exactly what she wanted, with emotional entanglement the last thing on the list of her wishes for the future.

*

T'Ko sat on the left side of bridge, opposite to Uhura. She had seen most of the officers before, but no deep scan had been possible for them as it was forbidden by general ISS statutes. She therefore had suggested that she would sit down close to them and try to read at least the more conscious thoughts of the officers, and Spock had agreed.

The first thought she caught was from Spock himself, and it astonished her. It was an intense lusting for McCoy that overshadowed everything else. Just when she wondered how he could control his own life like this, much less a whole ship, the pattern vanished again; it had been a temporary breach in his shields, not normal for Vulcans but also not completely rare. He was under constant emotional pressure from his crew and - over the bond - from McCoy. He would have to pay for this over time.

T'Ko turned her focus from Spock to Uhura. She was impressed by this woman that was very different to the others she had met on spaceships so far. Although the woman was a subordinate officer, she had an aura of power and determination. She would come far in this fleet.

Uhura rotated on her seat and said something to Spock, meeting T'Ko's eyes for a moment. T'Ko froze. The woman knew what she was trying to do, she was sure of it. But then Uhura swiveled back to her console, and the moment was over.

A thin layer of sweat appeared on T'Ko's skin, an embarrassing betrayal of her emotions. She loosened the collar of her robe and stared at the main screen, using the visible star field as a means to bring her into a weak, self-induced trance. It was the state in which she was most open for other people's thoughts. Within seconds, her mind filled with the many whispered thoughts of the bridge crew, and she tried to filter them out one by one until she would only hear the communication officer.

There it was, the mind voice just as beautiful as her real voice. It was barely audible, as if the officer was able to shield not just her console's messages, but also her thoughts. T'Ko zoomed in further, imagining her ear lobe increasing in size until it captured even the softest sound. For a moment, all she did was to record the thoughts without thinking about their meaning; but then she realized what Uhura thought and dropped out of the trance.

Spock gave her a sharp look, then returned to his duties. It was now his back she was staring at, wondering what she should do. Seconds, then minutes went by, and she didn't say a word, didn't tell him what she had captured from Uhura, or ask him for a meeting in private.

She let a traitor sit on the bridge while knowing that every minute was crucial.

Time dropped like honey in little viscid splotches, and she still didn't move. She stared at Spock and all she suddenly noticed were his Vulcan ears and his Vulcan blood. He had everything she'd lost. He had paid her well, but that wouldn't ever bring her back her family...a family she'd partly lost due to a conflict with the House of Sarek, which Spock didn't know. And no matter how much his father and he may be enemies, he was still part of that House. He was still her enemy.

She went up, taking the rail with one hand to steady herself. He rotated around to look at her again, a question in his eyes this time. She shook her head, motioning that everything was okay.

When she moved around the corner to the lift, she met Uhura's gaze for a second, staring at her. Then she looked away and left the bridge.

There was no way back anymore.

*

When Spock entered his quarters that evening, McCoy lay on the bed, already asleep.

Spock sat down next to him, unsure what to do - he felt like talking to him. The feeling of foreboding was stronger than ever, and if he could, he would fly right out of this sun system. But the Enterprise had a mission in the Aldebaran sector.

And to say that he disliked the place was a much too human statement to be acceptable.

He took the glass McCoy had drunken from and poured some more canar into it, a Cardassian drink that became increasingly popular. McCoy had developed a favor for it, but never had more than one glass.

Spock downed the drink and poured another one, wondering if he should go to the gym and work his tension off.

Or maybe he should stay here and work his tension off, he thought, and pulled back the upper part of McCoy's cover. The human wore a thin, buttoned shirt, but it could easily be removed. Spock smiled and had another glass of the potent drink, for once thinking that he was seeing ghosts all around and there was only one way to dispel them tonight.

"My one," he whispered into his ko-adun's ear. "Wake up."

But McCoy didn't move, didn't even stir. It made Spock listen to his breathing, but it was regular, if toned down.

It clicked.

Spock eyed the glass in his hand, and it slowly tilted, tipping the last drops to the floor. Shakily he tried to get up, but his legs gave way. Reaching out, his hand clamped around McCoy's shoulder but only grabbed the blanket in his fall, pulling it down with him. He was already unconscious when his body hit the floor.

***

Part 3

McCoy woke up slowly. Everything was aching, and he couldn't catch a clear thought at first. Then someone shook him hard, and he looked up to stare into brown eyes.

"McCoy," the human said, and pulled him up by his shirt's collar. There were more men, some of them already holding Spock in a tight lock. They were on the bridge of small spaceship -definitely not the Enterprise.

"Do I know you?" McCoy asked in confusion, his mind still foggy. The man had short brown hair and was clad in civilian clothes, a tight black shirt and similarly pants, Fleet boots on his feet; he didn't seem familiar.

"I was Kirk, your captain - at least before Spock sold me and the others into Klingon slavery."

The man spit out, hitting Spock's boots. "He's sold us to Kor! And bargained with him to let me live for at least three months, in which they should torture me."

McCoy frowned, searching his memory to no avail.

Kirk shook him again. "Don't you remember me?" He let him lose and turned to Spock. "The mind-wipe worked better than expected, didn't it?"

Spock remained silent.

"Spock...?" McCoy made a step forward, but Kirk's men held him back.

"Well," Kirk said, "it doesn't matter. He's going to be mine now anyway, with or without your cooperation, you Vulcan bastard."

Slowly Kirk removed the dark gloves that had covered his hands so far, slowly peeling them from each finger. "It's time to pay, Spock. I've waited for this moment for months. I knew it was just a question of time before somebody betrayed you. And now you will pay."

It took McCoy a moment to realize that Kirk's fingers were mostly implants - well done, but still...

"Yes, they were cut. But not at once," Kirk said. He stretched them, showing them fully to his prisoners. "Whenever I disobeyed an order - and believe me, there are many Klingon orders you wouldn't want to follow - they cut a digit. One digit for one disobedience. Soon, I was left with only one finger on every hand; then they punished me in other ways. They didn't want to pay for implants prosthesis, but didn't want to have a totally helpless slave either." Kirk stared at Spock. "Can you imagine how that felt?"

Spock remained silent.

"Well, you'll learn soon enough," Kirk said. "M'Benga!"

A dark man stepped closer and pushed something like a hypo in Spock's arm. It made a little whining sound when the fluid went under Spock's skin.

Spock lifted a brow; then a shiver ran over him.

"It's taking away your fabulous controls. Especially the control over your mind and body. No easy way out for you here." Kirk summoned another man who presented a little box.

"I've waited for this for months, Spock. It's been the one fantasy that kept me alive through all the torture." Kirk touched the box almost lovingly, stroking its cover with his artificial fingertips.

"Get him on his knees," he ordered, and the men behind Spock shoved him to the ground. McCoy wanted to rush forward, but someone caught his arms behind his back and held him. There was nothing McCoy could do but to stare at the box's content as Kirk opened it. It was a fluid, shimmering in all variations of a metallic rainbow.

"Raise your hands," Kirk ordered Spock. As the Vulcan didn't move, Kirk's men took hold of his arms and lifted them.

With sudden vehemence, Kirk pushed Spock's hands into it and kept them there for a second. Never before, McCoy had heard such a cry from the Vulcan, long-drawn and from the depths of his heart. He still cried as he jerked his hands out of the box, half the fingers covered with a layer of glowing metal. He moved back and forth in visible pain, holding his hands in front of his chest as his cries diminished to sobs.

"It was molten metal, my friend. Now you've got a taste of the pain I had to endure," Kirk stated with satisfaction and moved his own mutilated fingers. "And I'm really nice to you, doing it only once. With me, they've cut digit after digit over a long time."

He ordered the box away and looked at his men. "You can have him now, but let him live. If anyone kills him, I'll kill the guilty with my own hands!"

The men didn't need any further encouragement. It was an Asian upfront who pulled Spock to his feet and brutally hauled him over the nearest metal rail of the bridge. Two others were instantly there, spreading Spock's arms to the sides as the man tore the Vulcan's pants and pushed his legs apart.

Normally, McCoy thought dizzily as the unbelievable scene unfolded in front of his eyes, three humans wouldn't stand a chance against Spock. But the drug and the pain seemed to make Spock helpless against the assaults that followed. The men took turns in raping their victim, making sure each was given time to get off in the Vulcan's body. McCoy turned his head away, but the sounds were clear enough.

"McCoy," someone said and moved his chin around.

"Great to have you back," Kirk said. He nodded to McCoy's guards. "Bring him to my cabin and make sure he can't escape." Without a chance to say more, McCoy was led away.

*

Most of all, there was pain. It overshadowed everything; it made him unable to think.

It would not do, Spock decided and forced his mind to take control.

Pain was a thing of the mind.

The mind could be controlled.

Pain was a thing of the mind. But the pain was...real. It pulsed in his fingers, or what was left of them; burned in his ass, torn and bleeding. The pain was a hot iron turned in his guts from the humiliation that registered now.

And the treason.

They had sold him. Uhura and Scott sold him to Kirk.

Where had he made the mistake?

Where was McCoy?

His mind reeled as the pain went high, drowning every sensible thought. It took him minutes to calm it down to a bearable level. Then he opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. He was still on the bridge, but lay outstretched under the main screen of this ship opposite to Kirk's command chair, his wrists chained to one metal foot of the rail.

There were spots on the floor. They were green.

Why had they sold him? Where was the mistake? And why didn't T'Ko learn of their plan?

He took a deep breath; at least, he tried. There was a broken rib and the pain shot through him, evoking a rattling cough.

There was no pain - he was the pain. All of him was pain.

"Do you suffer?" someone asked.

He tried to focus on the man that towered above him.

A boot landed in his groin. The world turned black, welcome darkness for a moment - then another hypo was pressed in his arm and he returned to the light, finally identifying the man.

"Do - you - suffer?" Kirk asked again.

"Yes." Was that really his voice, so broken?

"You will suffer even more. Because now I'll take McCoy, and there's no way you can hinder me. I will chain him down and do all the things you liked to do to him. Or even better, I'll brainwash him just as you did, and he'll crawl to me because he'll think he likes it."

Another kick, in his stomach this time, as if to underline the words.

"On any terms, he'll be mine, Spock. It'll be my dick in his ass, again and again."

Where was McCoy? Where was the bond? He tried to find it, tried to hold on to the lifeline of his mind.

"You can't reach him, Spock. M'Benga saw to it. With your Vulcan control, everything else is gone too. You lost, you bastard."

Suddenly, there was a phaser in his mouth.

Spock didn't care. Shoot me, he thought, feeling the weapon's shaft between his bleeding lips.

Shoot me.

It pushed deeper, forcing his hurting jaw to open. His tongue rested against the muzzle, expecting the blow.

And then it was gone.

He sagged forward, his head coming to rest on the floor. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Kirk's boots leave. Then there were other men around him. They were back for more, and his cries were their pleasure.

There was pain. But most of all, there was loss.

*

Someone stroked from his forehead through his hair, again and again. It had something hypnotic, something soothing. It made him feel protected and loved.

"Spock..." McCoy murmured.

Then he opened his eyes and gasped. "You? So it was...real?"

"Oh yes," the man who called himself Kirk said, his lips pulled into a sardonic grin. "Everything's very real."

McCoy tried to turn away, but found that he was tied to a chair that was more of an examination couch; it was tilted backwards, holding his head in a rather fixed position. His arms were chained to the armrests, his legs attached to the lower part of the chair by a kind of Velcro straps. He tried to move, but the bondage held.

"I was waiting for you for a long time, McCoy," the man said.

"Long time...?"

Brown eyes stared at him. "So you really don't know me, do you?"

McCoy stared back. These eyes...they were different. The left one was a lighter, more regular brown; it was an implant too. He wondered if that had been the Klingons' work. Finally he shook his head. "I really don't."

"What do you know, McCoy? Of, let's say, the last three years."

McCoy decided to stare at the ceiling rather than in these obsessed man's eyes. "I worked on the colony Thelaka before I joined the Enterprise under Captain Spock two years ago. We fell in love and then..."

"You fell in love?" The man laughed cruelly. "Do you ever have memory problems?"

McCoy swallowed. "I had a brain damage three months ago. I needed surgery, that's why I can't remember everything of the last years."

"So that's what he told you. Incredible." The man went up and paced through the room. He seemed to make up his mind about something, then laughed to himself. He went back to McCoy.

"I could tell you a lot of things, but you wouldn't believe them. But I'll find another way to teach you the truth."

The man went to the door, which opened for him automatically.

"Please - don't leave me here like this," McCoy begged. "Please!"

But the man had already left, ignoring his pleas. Annoyed, McCoy pushed against his arms' chains, but it didn't help.

Where was Spock? And, now that he thought of him, where was the usual loving feeling he had whenever he thought of him?

Something was amiss, but McCoy couldn't pinpoint it. It was like being lost in the fog.

Yet another thing gone, he thought, but felt too little about it to care.

*

In the transport bay, Kirk eyed the bits and pieces the Enterprise had sent over from Spock's and McCoy's possessions and which were still standing in the corner; nobody of the crew had cared to store the things when they had gotten Spock in their hands.

But now he searched through it and found a little box with keys at first, putting them in his pocket. A further search led to a box with the seal of Spock's house on the cover. Kirk opened it and instantly put the Vulcan book aside that lay on top; he had no love for antique paperbacks. But the tapes were something else - he had an idea what they may be about.

But to convince McCoy, he needed even more material. The Enterprise was still close; he could hail her and talk to Uhura.

Minutes later, he was in the little meeting room of his ship, hailing the Enterprise. The new communications officer put him through - to Captain Uhura's rooms.

"Kirk?" she said somewhat surprised. He could see that her bustier was shifted, and she took great care not to show anything below her breast. "Anything else you need?"

"I need some more information from my personal databanks. I'm sure Mr. Scott saw to it that there were backup copies made after my vanishing?"

She looked over the screen at someone standing behind it; then the engineer came in front of it.

"I made some copies, captain."

The title caused Kirk's heart to skip a beat - then it made him angry. It was his ship, after all, and he'd lost it due to Spock. Nogura could've returned the Enterprise to him again.

And not to that bitch.

"Captain? Do you want all files or just some special material?"

Kirk shook himself out of his reverie. "There are some surveillance tapes I made with a special camera. They show Spock's training of McCoy. They are named z00z 1 to 24."

Scott looked at a second screen and typed something. Then he nodded. "Transfer starts...now."

"Kirk -" Uhura suddenly intervened, poking the screen with her manicured forefinger. "I don't know what's the business with you and Spock and McCoy, but I know that it almost destroyed all three of you. If you want my advice - get rid of them as soon as possible."

"That's really none of your business, Uhura," Kirk said coolly. The files were almost there; he could stop pretending that he accepted her and her position.

"No, it isn't," she agreed. "But once, you were a glorious captain, and today..." She waved her hand.

"I think that's enough," he forced out between his teeth. "We'll stay in contact." Even if it's only for knowing where you'll be when I'm going to get the Enterprise back, he thought.

"Rather not at the moment," she said and closed the line on him, leaving him fuming.

*

Kirk returned to his quarter for setting up the tapes. He looked over his prisoner - with his arms and legs chained to the chair, McCoy looked charmingly helpless. McCoy's gaze had something of a wounded animal, a raw vulnerability that shouted at Kirk to take advantage of him right on the spot. But he held back - why hurry with this fest after waiting for so long? McCoy could need some counter-conditioning. Although M'Benga had promised him that the mind link was silenced by Spock's drugging, he wanted to pull McCoy to his side by any means. And these tapes were the perfect tool for that. It would be a shame not to use them.

Kirk changed the program on the viewer and was pleased to see the screen quality was good enough to see some important details. Such as Spock's whip leaving distinguishable marks on his victim's body. And other tapes, showing how Sarek tamed the human, much like a trained ape. The tapes could run in random, out of order. The only important thing was that they all showed how the Vulcans had conditioned their human pet.

He stepped to the side to give McCoy a full view.

"I got something for you, McCoy. Take a good look at it to find out just what exactly you have missed by the mind-wipe Spock performed on you. He wiped your memory and planted new ones, just like you'd wipe a tape. Only that we've got proof of what happened in the past."

Kirk patted McCoy's head. "I'll be back in a few hours," he said and left his quarter.

*

McCoy stared at the running video. Spock? And himself? He couldn't remember that scene. He'd never been tied up like that. And of course, Spock had also never beaten him like that. This had to be something made up by Kirk... In a full-fledged crush of nausea, he tried to turn his head away, but due to the restrictive position, only closing his eyes helped.

But not for long.

And whenever he opened them again, the tapes still played. There were so many different scenes, and in every single of them, Spock or another Vulcan manhandled and abused him.

What's so different to this here, a part of McCoy wanted to ask, too aware of the cuffs and straps that held him on this chair. But there was a difference, he thought wincing as he eyed Spock's harsh whipping on screen. Kirk hadn't hurt him - so far.

McCoy felt tired and exhausted. Bodily pain mixed with psychological one, as he couldn't help to look closer at the screen. A part of him screamed that those pictures couldn't be true. This wasn't Spock, but someone else. It had to be.

Another part, though, just wanted to give up. What did he know about truth anyway? He couldn't remember much before about three months ago, when Spock had claimed to having him brought back to life after an accident that had wiped his memory. He couldn't say what really happened in the last two years. There was no proof against what he saw on screen, besides his own belief into Spock and that Spock loved him. He'd become the man without history - and with a future he rather wouldn't want to face.

*

Kirk sat in the meeting room, once again alone. Most of the small crew were still on the bridge, torturing Spock.

He had enjoyed it too, for a moment. Spock's cry when his hands were burned by the liquid metal would stay forever with Kirk.

But after that, it had lost its fascination. Revenge was not only best eaten cold - once it was revered, it left a stale emptiness behind. He'd done what he wanted to do with the Vulcan, and McCoy would soon succumb to him, one way or the other.

And what was left now?

He moved the screen of the console around, but didn't call up anything, his eyes coming to rest on its dirty green-brown surface.

He could've stayed in his cabin, have a Saurian brandy and watch the tapes with McCoy. He could go up to the bridge and shove his boot into Spock's ass.

He could just sit here and think.

He put his face in his palms, and a feeling of peace came over him, slacking his limbs, dissolving his tension. There was no mission anymore to carry him further, no reason why his crew should follow him any longer; it was done.

And it still didn't get him the Enterprise again. His beautiful ship.

He felt his chest tightening and with sudden force, he pulled himself out of the reverie. He couldn't handle this - this insightful moment.

Fuck it.

He had a ship and crew, he had McCoy...and he still had the pleasure to execute Spock, or do whatever else he had in mind with that piece of shit.

Calling up star charts, he started to plan a new future.

*

McCoy had tried to sleep - he had tried to do anything to escape the pictures. But whenever he was about to doze off, the scene changed and he hadn't been able to ignore the pictures, driven by a sick sense of scientific curiosity.

It made him want to puke. It also made him ache deep in his guts.

According to the tapes, it had never been his choice to get bonded with Spock. It wasn't clear why they bonded, but it was clear that they hated each other. Enough for him to accept a conditioning by that older Vulcan - only to become conditioned by Spock too later.

And by the older man once again? McCoy began to lose track of what really happened. It was as if anyone who wanted could press reset on his brain and use him for his own sick pleasure. There obviously had been a battle going on between the two Vulcans, and he had been caught in the middle.

Where his abductor fit in was less clear. It was a stretch of imagination to think that Kirk was simply an old friend of McCoy. It didn't feel like. There was no resonance of such a thing.

But then, he had been mind-wiped, and what did he know?

He stared at the screen where Spock let the hidden rings on McCoy's wrist bracelets snap out. They really were for tying him up and keeping him under control. They'd never been simple jewelry. Spock had lied to him over and over again, without any regrets.

On screen, he was fucked hard, begging Spock to hurt him less.

On his chair, McCoy closed his eyes again, praying for a little sleep to put his inner pain on hold, at least for a moment.

*

"Do you like it?"

McCoy snapped out of his sleep in alarm.

"It's interesting, isn't it?" The man - Kirk, McCoy reminded himself - pointed at the screen, where a kind of official celebration scene ran. It was apparently the moment in which McCoy received the golden belt. But without any keys for himself.

"Sarek really wanted to keep you. Enough to brainwash you on Vulcan again."

"Sarek?"

Kirk eyed him. "The older Vulcan. Spock's father."

"Spock's father? They both...?"

"Yes, both. You were just a little plaything. Or maybe I should say, you were their battlefield."

Kirk pulled a little key out of his pocket and drew closer.

"I can free you from it," he stated with eyes on McCoy's groin, where the belt was hidden under uniform pants.

McCoy was at loss. "Why would you do that?"

"I'm your friend. I think you were harmed enough. If you give me your word that you won't try to escape, I'll untie you and you can go to the bathroom."

"I guess I wouldn't get far anyway, would I?"

"No."

"Well, then," McCoy said, knowing that his bladder was about to explode, "I swear I won't run away."

"Fine." Kirk first opened the straps on McCoy's legs, than the metal locks around his arms. McCoy cautiously slipped out of the chair, his legs wobbly from the long immobilization. He also hadn't had anything to drink or eat all day and was starving.

"Sit down on the bed," Kirk said. "I'll strip you and then unlock the belt."

McCoy tensed. "I could do that myself."

"You're barely standing straight right now. Get down." He pushed him slightly but not unfriendly, and McCoy yielded.

Kirk undressed him efficiently and removed the belt. McCoy, leaning back on his lower arms, stared down at the wizen thing between his legs.

He didn't feel anything for it since forever, but knowing that it was only the Vulcans' doing made him want to feel something now, anything. He reached out and clutched the disconnected meat, pressing his nails into it as hard as he could.

"Does it hurt?" Kirk asked.

"No," McCoy said blankly and let it slip out of his fingers. "I feel nothing at all."

"I'm sure we can do something about that later," Kirk said with a wink. "Now, go and have a shower. I'll have dinner ready when you come out again."

McCoy nodded and, with a little help from Kirk, made it into the shower. It was sonic, but refreshing.

Maybe life wasn't as bad as it had looked this morning.

*

When he came out again, he found Kirk had kept his promise; the little table set up with various dishes as well as water and wine, and ignorant of his nudity McCoy sat down, putting the towel over his knees.

"It looks great," he said and savored the meal with his eyes before reaching out for what looked like a little sausage.

"Wait," Kirk said and picked it up faster than him. "Let me feed you."

"Feed?"

"Yes. I know you're tired and starved, and I want to feed you. It's something we did on the Enterprise in the past."

McCoy looked from the sausage to Kirk. "You mean...we had something going on?"

"Yes. Now open your mouth." The sausage danced in front of McCoy's eyes. Food, finally. He felt his lips open almost before he made a conscious decision. They closed again when he began chewing on the sausage. It tasted marvelous.

"A piece of cheese?" Kirk asked and already lifted it. McCoy didn't say no.

Major parts of the dishes vanished into McCoy's stomach, with Kirk eating only very little. McCoy also had a few glasses of wine, which made him relax further. Finally he yawned.

"Are you tired?" Kirk asked.

"Yes, quite."

Kirk looked at him. "I can't let you sleep without any securing measures, I'm sorry. But I'll try to make it as comfortable as possible for you."

McCoy nodded, his throat suddenly dry.

"Get on the bed." Kirk saw his slight panic and added, "I won't do anything, but I'll tie you to the bed. It's the most comfortable spot around - or do you want to sleep in the chair?"

"No." McCoy went up and walked over to the bed. He sat down with a deep feeling of insecurity, suddenly strongly aware again of his nudity.

"Give me your wrists," Kirk said.

With just a little pressure at the right spots, the hooks snapped out of their hide in the metal bracelets. McCoy winced.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Kirk said soothingly. "I'm just going to take this chain here...you see, which is locked to the top of the bed, and connect it to your wrist cuffs. They are very comfortable, you wore them for months without problems. Now, just lie down and relax." He motioned McCoy to stretch out and pulled two sheets over him. Then he dropped his own clothes and moved behind McCoy, but under another blanket.

"If you have any problems tonight, wake me up," he said.

McCoy nodded weakly. Somehow this wasn't feeling right, but on the other hand it didn't have much similarity to the tapes. Did it....?

For at least two hours, he waited for a hand on his body. But none came up, and so he finally drifted into sleep.

*

A day came and went by, and then there was another morning. And a hand softly stroked from his forehead through his hair, and made him feel secure and protected. It also stroked down his chin, his nose and over his lips. It wandered down his throat and chest and over his stomach.

Then it stroked further down.

He woke in a panic and opened his eyes. "It's you," he said blankly when he eyed Kirk. "I'm sorry, I thought it was Spock."

"Spock won't ever be able to do anything to you," Kirk said, and caressed McCoy's genitals. Over the last day, McCoy thought that the area developed feelings and sensations of its own again, but he was never quite sure.

"Did you dream of him tonight?"

McCoy started at a point between Kirk's brows. "I'm not sure. It was wild, and lots of darkness. And fire."

"Nothing else?"

"I think he...raped me. Or made love to me. I can't quite distinguish that anymore."

They had watched some of the tapes over the day, because Kirk had wanted to explain more things to him.

Like, why Spock had hated him so. McCoy understood, somehow; nobody would want to be bonded to an unsuitable partner because he was in a pon farr rage. He just didn't understand how Spock could change his opinion so that he'd meddle with McCoy's brain until he became that fitting partner.

His genitals stirred, and it surprised the hell out of him.

"I think we've got a major breakthrough," Kirk said with a grin.

McCoy tried to look down on his body, but it was an uncomfortable position with his wrists chained to the bed.

"Won't you unchain me?" he asked cautiously.

"Maybe - maybe not," Kirk answered and leaned over the genitals. He thumbed some and licked some and McCoy's head sank back on the cushion.

"It feels great."

Kirk kept stimulating the awakening flesh, but after a while the sensation ran off and it started to ache. Kirk stopped, and McCoy was frustrated.

"I think I have an idea," Kirk said. "Get on your knees."

"Like this?" McCoy asked, shaking the chain that tied him to the bed's head.

"Yes. Turn around and lift your ass."

McCoy couldn't help but follow the order. Part of him was wide awake and crying out for what was to come, wanting and needing it. A smaller part was panicking and wanting to get away.

He shut the latter down and was instantly rewarded by Kirk's careful manipulations. Fingers, then a penis were inserted. It felt great.

Kirk began to move back and forth, and McCoy could feel Kirk's sack slapping his own every time the man drove into him. It was incredibly hot.

"Oh please...." McCoy begged, not knowing what for.

Kirk increased his tempo and reached around with one hand to rub McCoy's erection.

It was breathtaking, until it was over and Kirk came. McCoy could feel every jolt of the dick in his ass as it pumped the sperm into his bowels.

"You didn't come?" Kirk asked as he lay down next to him.

"No," McCoy said. "But it..." He searched for the right words. "Made me feel good." Kirk pulled him closer and unlocked the wrist cuffs from the chain. Free to move, McCoy put his head on Kirk's chest, relaxing in the protective embrace.

*

This day, McCoy was allowed to accompany Kirk through the ship, wearing some of Kirk's clothes. But although Kirk tried to make him feel comfortable, everyone else only shed leery gazes at him. When they crossed the Asian in the corridor, he gave McCoy the finger and a dirty look, invisible to Kirk. McCoy looked away.

They went to the mess hall and had breakfast, Kirk offering him a croissant and a coffee.

"You want to see the bridge?" Kirk asked when they were almost finished.

"Not really. But I'd like to see sickbay. Do you think there's a chance I could work as doctor again?"

"No."

McCoy looked up. "No?"

"We've got a doctor."

"So - what am I supposed to be here?"

"You don't need to do anything, McCoy. You're still recovering."

"Maybe I should go and find another ship -"

Kirk took the tray. "Let's go back."

McCoy blinked in confusion. The crewmembers in the mess stared at them, exchanging a few whispered words.

"Come on," Kirk ordered. He directed him to his cabin.

"What's the problem?" McCoy asked when the door closed.

"Sit down," Kirk said.

McCoy went to the bed with a shiver.

"Maybe you didn't realize it, but the people here weren't really friends with Spock."

McCoy nodded.

"And since you were Spock's plaything, even if you didn't want to be, they aren't exactly friends with you either. It's safer for you to stay here a little while longer."

McCoy knew what it meant. "You're going to chain me up again?"

"I'm sorry; I just can't trust you yet." Kirk got out the hooks at the cuffs. McCoy lay down, watching them getting locked to the chain at the bed.

"And when will you trust me?"

"We'll see. A few more days maybe, okay?" Kirk patted McCoy's shoulder. "I'll be back soon."

McCoy sagged into the cushion in frustration. His current imprisonment might appear like vacation, compared to the pictures he had seen on the tapes, but it still wasn't freedom. He'd play along for a little while longer, but once he would be allowed to get out of this room, he'd try to escape. Shifting around on the bed for a more comfortable position, he closed his eyes and began thinking of his future away from Kirk.

*

They met in the ready room, Sulu, M'Benga and Kirk. The theme was actually their future plans, but between Sulu bragging about making Spock eat shit (and Kirk really didn't want to ask what exactly he meant) and M'Benga blubbering over the great drugs he'd developed, Kirk didn't have much to say for a while.

Then he slammed his fist down on the table. "Shut up, both of you."

They looked at him with a frown.

"We've got two things on the plate. What to do with Spock. And what do to with our future."

"What about McCoy?" Sulu asked. "You can't seriously keep him onboard. He's gonna betray you some day."

"M'Benga?"

The dark man shrugged. "I can keep him drugged in various ways, no problem. Anything from vegetable to dog level." He laughed caustically.

"Fine," Kirk said. "Give me a medium tranquilizer dose for him later. I'll administer it personally." McCoy was getting too mentally active for his taste, and asking too many questions. It would be a nice break to have McCoy as a simple fucktoy once in a while.

"You?" M'Benga asked.

Kirk glared at him. "Is there anything complicated about using a filled hypo?"

"No sir."

Sulu shook his head. "Two Vulcans have already tried to keep him under control, and it didn't work out on the long run. I think he's too dangerous."

"You only want to fuck him," Kirk said.

"Not as much as M'Benga does." Sulu nodded towards his seat neighbor.

Kirk hit the table again. "Nobody but me will lay hands on him. I'll kill anyone who tries." Pointing his forefinger at them, he emphasized, in a deadly quiet tone, "and I mean it."

"Alright," M'Benga said. "What about Spock? I think we've had most of the fun by now. Nobody wants to touch that filthy bastard anymore - except for Sulu maybe."

Sulu shrugged. "I've seen worse in my life. I grew up in Klingon territory."

Kirk waved his hand. "We know the story."

"Just to remind you why you're still here," Sulu said. "Without me and my knowledge, you'd all be dead like Chapel."

"I know. And I'll be eternally grateful," Kirk said caustically. He mentally added another notch in the list of reasons why he wanted to get rid of the Asian. It was true; even though Kirk had managed to get rid of their Klingon torturers - sacrificing Chapel in the process - he wouldn't have come far without Sulu, as only the Asian had the know-how to steal a Klingon ship and fly them into freedom. But nobody was allowed to brag like that, and Sulu would learn this soon.

"You can keep him for a little longer, Sulu." Kirk leaned back in his chair. "Concerning the future, I think we should consider the contact again we made in Aleria."

"Those raiders and slaveholders?" M'Benga frowned. "I'm not sure we can trust them."

"You're a doctor - what do you know about politics?" Sulu asked tartly.

"As much as you, navigator," M'Benga barked.

Kirk saw that they weren't going to reach any agreement today. He was also much too eager to get back to McCoy with the hypo to interfere with their current battle.

"Let's meet again tomorrow. I've sent a bit of information to your consoles. Check it out."

Sulu quickly left, but Kirk held back M'Benga. "The hypo."

The doctor gave it to him, but not without a deep frown that Kirk ignored.

"Thanks," Kirk said and put it in his pocket.

*

It was real and not real, physical and pure mind. McCoy thought he was sleeping but he couldn't wake up, no matter how he tried. Someone was all over him; someone was holding him down and forcing himself into him. It probably wasn't real, there were the tapes running and it was just a dream. He was too tired for fighting. Lying on his side, one leg tilted up, it was comfortable enough to just stay like this and get used. The bed shook and that was what dispelled the tape dreams; this was real because it felt real, but there were also whip sounds and he didn't feel a whip, not that he knew how it felt anyway, and it was surely not real because the colors wouldn't smear like this once he opened his lids. At least he thought they were open, but he wasn't sure.

Open, closed, open, it wasn't much difference, what's a little color between friends. His arms ached and he knew for sure it was real because it was that particular ache that ran along the muscles of his underarms and up into the shoulder muscles, cramping the whole area. He tried to change position, but everything felt heavy like lead. The fog cleared, but then darkness fell again. The cramps stopped and he sank down, down, down, like a dead fish in the ocean, until he hit the ground and forgot.

*

The morning found McCoy aching and with his legs tied too. He wiggled and tried to get the ties off in increasing panic.

"Shhh, everything alright," Kirk said. "You had a bad dream and were kicking me. I had to make sure you wouldn't hurt anyone, including yourself." He removed the rope and unchained McCoy's arms.

"Thank you," McCoy rasped and sat up, moving his sore limbs. "I'm sorry. I didn't sleep well."

"Obviously."

"I think I've had enough of the tapes. It's only making things worse. I know everything I need to know."

Kirk searched his face. "You know...you could spend some time with Spock and a stun gun in storage room B."

McCoy made a face. "He's a sick bastard, but I can't imagine doing that. Must be the conditioning, but I just...no."

"Yes, maybe it's better," Kirk agreed. "Go take a shower, and you'll feel a lot better."

McCoy did it, and soon returned refreshed.

When he saw Kirk already sitting on the bed with the chain in his hands, he paled. "Please, no chains today," he whispered. "I want to feel free for a little longer." He knelt down in front of him. "I'm begging you."

Kirk looked at him, thinking.

"Please." For the first time, McCoy touched Kirk on his own initiative, running his fingers up Kirk's chest.

It never took much to get Kirk going. When they were done, Kirk stroked McCoy's face and nodded. "I'll let you unchained for today. See it as a test." He put on his uniform and left without locking the door.

Thanks heaven for men in sexual haze, McCoy thought and hastily left the cabin minutes later.

*

McCoy knew that he was risking a lot, but he couldn't help it. He'd spent enough time chained to the bed and watching the tapes, and only one person could tell him if they were real. He'd told Kirk he didn't want to torture Spock, but he'd planned on seeing him for days. This might be his only chance, and he'd make good use of it.

Storage room B was dark as he went inside. When the lights went on, he saw that the room was empty except for a metal crate. It seemed much too small to hold an adult man, but he went to it and knocked on the side.

"Spock?"

There was a small movement in the crate, and a part of McCoy suddenly wanted to shout and kick the box, make Spock hurt, hurt, hurt for all the things he and that other Vulcan had done to him. But there was a bigger part that felt so tired and hurt and lonely. McCoy sagged to the floor next to the crate, pushing his lips at the air holes.

"Spock, why did you do this to me?" he whispered. "Why, oh why? He's shown tapes to me...tell me they aren't true. Tell me they were fakes."

There was no sound.

"He said I'm his now. Seems I'm everyone's but my own, eh? You looked after that for sure," McCoy said pained. "Was it all a lie, Spock? Everything I can remember, your feelings for me, the tenderness, all a damn lie?"

He hit the box with his palm as there was still no answer. "Spock! Talk to me! If what we had was important to you, talk to me!"

Little sounds; some scraping on metal. And for the first time it came to McCoy's mind that maybe Spock simply couldn't answer. He jumped up and opened the front of the crate, which was locked by a simple but efficient mechanism. The inside was dark as night and smelled like rotten meat.

"Spock..." the human whispered when Spock crawled out, and had a hard time to stomach the things he saw. He helped him stretch on the floor, careful not to touch the badly infected fingers or the obviously broken jaw. Spock's whole body was dark green and blue from beatings, and covered with blood and excrements.

"Spock..." Any thought of revenge died on this view, and all McCoy could think about was his medical kit.

"I don't have anything here to treat you, Spock, but I'll get it. I'll return as soon as possible," he murmured, and stroked the Vulcan's forehead, pushing away some dirty strands of hair. "Can I leave you out for the moment, or will anyone come in here soon?"

Spock shrugged minutely.

"We've got to take this chance. I'll be back instantly."

McCoy left and returned a quarter of an hour later with an emergency medikit he'd found in a corner, tending to Spock's injuries as well as he could.

Some decks above and unknown to the couple, Kirk sat in front of his screen and glared at the scene. McCoy just didn't know what was good for him. He had to get rid of Spock as soon as possible, or McCoy would never belong to him. Today he'd let him get away with it, but by tomorrow this problem would be solved.

When McCoy returned to Spock the next morning, the crate was empty.

*

By all rights, Ajen should have a bad conscience; not only because of what he did for a profession, but for the lack of good reason he had. The men and women that stepped through the metal doors of his underground prison to face torture and death were not his enemies; he had never suffered under occupying forces, had never been manhandled or raped in a dark cell on a backyard planet, and none of the big forces had ever raided his house or killed his family.

There was simply no reason he should take revenge on them, but he wasn't the one who needed a reason - there were plenty of them with his customers who felt the burning need to pay for those people's death. He was a trader in revenge and satisfaction for the formerly victimized and in a brutal galaxy like this, there was no end to his potential market. And no matter if his customers had little or lots of money, they all could join the pools where the tortures were dealt for the young and handsome, the ugly and old - everyone had his fans, because everyone on the selling table was guilty, even if just guilty of belonging to a domineering species.

But the man he waited for today was more than guilty and, although it didn't matter to Ajen's non-existing conscience, he was satisfied with the prospect of earning a considerable sum with him. As former officer in the Empire's fleet and member of a higher Vulcan House, the content of the torpedo tube his helpers were just bringing onboard of their ship was worth its weight in gold.

However, the first scan of the man was less than encouraging, and when he was finally brought into the brightly lit medical area, Ajen frowned deeply. The Vulcan was barely able to move, his body colored from severe beating, and when he sat down, he rested his hands - what was left of them, as most of the fingers missed one or two digits - on the armrests. As Doctor Eniis took Spock's chin in his hands to turn it, Ajen could see that the jaw had been broken.

So there had been a reason why this man had been so unusually cheap, Ajen thought. But they had enough resources to make the best of it.

"When will he be ready?" he asked over a headphone that only the doctor could hear.

Eniss raised his forefinger.

Five days. That was acceptable. Ajen started a new database entry for V21023, scheduled the 3D scan for next week and set up the usual recommended tortures for Vulcans with a special offer on mutilation of fingers. If no one else booked this, one of the fake buyers would be used to make even the Vulcan's existing damage into a success for Ajen's production. It would cost the Vulcan a few more digits to make the scene look real, but that didn't matter; he wouldn't get out of here alive anyway.

*

McCoy scrolled through the ship's databanks, but he still only had the authorization for the tapes about his training, and he shut off the screen in frustration. Kirk didn't chain him up anymore at daytime and only locked the door when he left, which gave McCoy the mobility to wander around and explore the cabin. But there was little in it and everything interesting was still withheld from him.

And he didn't dare ask what had become of Spock. He might be dead, as Kirk had hinted at. But he might also still live; the bond stayed quiet but seemed to be there. At least, McCoy didn't have a feeling of loss, as he'd expect.

Another assumption in his world devoid of facts.

He sighed. He was still a prisoner, he just had another dungeon keeper.

The door opened; he smiled that fake smile he'd learned to paint on his face on the sight of Kirk. The captain wanted to have a pet? He'd give him one for now. The more compliant he was, the less weird dreams he had. Not sure what they used for drugging him, but the effect was clear. And of course, being the obedient pet, he craved to get chained up at night.

"How do you feel?" Kirk would ask and pull him onto the bed.

"Fine," he would say and try to do everything that Kirk said. And offering his ass was actually one of the easier things.

The days dragged by like this, and he still hadn't learned anything new about Spock.

*

At first, Spock didn't give much thought to where he was - anything was better than Kirk's ship for the moment. He accepted everything the Orion doctor did, and his state rapidly improved over the days. The major wounds healed, and his fingers at least saved at their current length, only one or two digits missing from each (except for the thumbs that remained largely untouched), he was finally able to give a real thought to his current whereabouts.

He was in a little cell; it was comfortable, with a bed and an agreeable temperature which he could change himself. Food and drinks were delivered by beaming in and out. There was a little toilet corner with fresh water and a sonic unit. However, there was no privacy for him, as he was given no clothes and the light never went really down, although it stimulated a slight day-night rhythm. The toilet area was also open, lacking any walls.

The logical conclusion was that he was still a prisoner, under constant surveillance to ensure that he did nothing his current keepers did not like.

Yesterday morning he had last seen the doctor, and although the man had said nothing to him personally, Spock presumed that he was pronounced fit...for whatever. It made him curious; it also put a little edge to the situation. His currently comfortable position was probably about to change for the worse. There weren't many reasons why anyone would want to nurse him back to health. They might want to sell him back to his House and make money off Sarek, but somehow Spock doubted that Kirk would have liked that. And since Kirk had made the deal to send him here, in a little emergency capsule with barely enough air to survive, Spock assumed that his stay here was to ensure that he would not be able to survive to do anything for McCoy.

Spock sat on the edge of the bed, focusing to clear his mind. But the bond, which had been such a solid part in the core of his mind, slipped out of his reach again and again. It was...still there, he decided, but he experienced neither the connection nor could he perceive McCoy's current situation. Possibly, McCoy was drugged - possibly he was drugged himself, he thought as he eyed the food. He felt good but had problems concentrating; someone wanted him unable to think.

He rubbed his forehead with his fingertips, as if it could make the light fog go away. Instead of settling in the peace of this little cell, it was important to escape as soon as possible. There was a door at the other side of the room, but he had never seen it open. Like the food, he had always been transported directly to the medical station and back. There hadn't been any visible guards, but he presumed that they would appear if needed. He had never heard a sound in his cell, not even footsteps in a possible corridor on the other side of the door. It was as if only this cell existed, with himself the only life in this universe.

Spock shook off the superstition. It had to be a damping field; he just had never stayed in one for such a long time. It was another means to keep him quiet and under control. But it would not hold him back anymore. He rose to stand, still enjoying to feel that his body obeyed his orders again. The door was locked, of course - he had tested that once - but the lock was not as secure as he had thought at first. He took a little knife they had given him with the food, and went on lock-picking. If his assumption of surveillance was correct, they should soon send someone his way. If the screens, however, were not monitored at all times, his actions might escape his guards.

Picking the lock was possible although it was hard to handle the knife with his mutilated fingers. Spock clenched his teeth. Once he would be free again, Kirk and Sulu would pay with their lives for their actions. He should have killed them personally the first time, but he had been occupied with McCoy and not able to perform the tortures he wanted them to suffer onboard of the Enterprise. This had been a grave error in his planning. And how could he have known that Uhura would deceive him? She too would pay for this.

There was a little click and like moved by a ghost the door swung open to the outside. Spock froze, keeping his breath, but nothing happened, and there was still no sound anywhere.

Cautiously, he put first his hand, then his head through the door frame. His cell was at the end of a long corridor. Opposite to it, there was another cell door, but when Spock drew closer, he found that was not real, only a pattern in the wall. He looked down the corridor again; at the other end of it, there was the only other door. It looked unreal, but he didn't have much choice. He quickly walked to it. The door opened for him when he was in front of it, sliding soundlessly to the side. Behind it, there was another corridor.

He followed the other corridor to another door, where yet another corridor opened to him.

This was the point when he decided that this useless. He would never arrive anywhere; maybe he dreamed, or -

\- it was a kind of holo gadget, he realized as the corridors changed into a forest.

A Klingon forest. With two Klingons on horses approaching.

Spock stared at them, not sure if they were a threat to him. Only when the hooves of the horses caused the earth beneath his feet to shake and he could see the sharpened bathlets in the hands of the Klingons, did he begin to run.

They soon caught him and made fun out of the hunt by riding left and ride of him, pushing their horses against his body in an attempt to cause his fall. At one point, Spock allowed them to succeed and threw himself to the ground; their speed too high to stop instantly, it gave him a little time to run in the direction of the deeper forest. But they were after him quickly, and the broad side of a bathlet caught his left part of the back and lower neck. He fell and rolled, his left side paralyzed from the pain for a moment. They jumped from their horses with a victorious grunt.

He still fought them, and it bought him some minutes. But then the injuries of the past wore him out and he lost against them, his body exhausted and hurting. One of them sat on his chest, suffocating him; the other pulled a Klingon dagger. Spock braced himself for his final moment, but the Klingon grabbed his left arm instead of his neck. He extended it to the side and knelt on the wrist before he pushed Spock's palm to the ground with his hand.

The knife descended and cut Spock's forefinger after the first digit, right at the end of the stump.

Spock arched in anguish and pain, but he was unable to stop the Klingons. The artificial sunlight mirrored in the blade as it sliced the next finger's flesh and went through the bone.

*

Light-years away, McCoy bolted up from his sleep, a long, animalistic cry escaping his throat. Madly, he struggled against the chain that held his wrist cuffs.

"McCoy...shhh...calm down." Kirk grabbed him, but McCoy twisted out of his grip.

"You bastard," he groaned. "Spock's not dead...I can feel him...oh lord...What did you do to him?"

"Nothing more than what he did to me," Kirk replied sharply. "And to you. Realize that, dammit!" He shook McCoy hard.

"I hate you...I hate you." In irrational fever, McCoy pushed his tied fists into Kirk's face, but the other man escaped the impact at the last moment.

Kirk took an iron hold on his arms, forcing them above McCoy's head. "You should've shouted that at him, you brain-wiped idiot." He pushed him into the mattress with his full weight.

"Get your hands off me." With the force of a mad man, McCoy managed to push Kirk away. He rolled from the bed, ending on his knees. "I don't care what you say. All this goddamn material could've been faked. All I know is that Spock's my husband and you are nothing but a lying bastard." The connection to the wall creaked sharply as McCoy tore at the chain.

"You're just too fucked up." Kirk hammered his fist on the intercom button above his head. "M'Benga, to the captain! Instantly!"

"What are you up to?" McCoy spat. "Let the fuck get me away from you...you....killer. Animal!"

With one fluid move, Kirk jumped out of the bed and clamped his hands around McCoy's throat. He shook him harshly. "You don't get it, McCoy, do you? Not in the past and not even now. This isn't about what you want. Not for years. You and Spock were bonded because M'Benga drugged you both. Sarek trained you as fuck slave and Spock carried on with that. You went to Vulcan and came back even more wrecked up. You didn't even speak Standard anymore, just Vulcan. And so Spock wiped your brain, and along with it your last years and the life on the Enterprise. Who's the animal here? Who's the animal who gave me to the Klingons, where they cut off my fingers digit by digit?"

Kirk let his victim loose, and McCoy sagged to the wall, fighting for breath. "I don't believe you," he pressed out. "Never."

"I don't care if you believe me, because I've called M'Benga to take care of that damn bond with Spock. I should've killed him instead of selling him to a slaver." Kirk got up. "Once M'Benga is done with you, you'll forget Spock and all that Vulcan shit. You're mine, McCoy. Forever. Get that in your stubborn head, while you still can."

Kirk turned around as M'Benga entered. "Give him the other drug we've talked about yesterday. But only half a dose at first."

M'Benga only nodded and pulled out a hypo. "But you remember that he's got to get a dose once a week to keep him quiet?"

"Yes. Go on."

McCoy struggled as M'Benga came closer, but he didn't stand a chance against two un-handicapped enemies. The hypo forced its load in his upper arm, and he heavily sat down on the floor, burying his face in his hands.

"Do you feel how your thinking gets slower and slower? Like a sweet curtain that gets pulled over your sorrows, sends to rest your hate and anger?" Kirk said almost poetically.

McCoy rocked back and forth. "Why, why all this, Kirk?" He looked up in defeat. "Why do you want me like that? What can I possibly give you that makes me so valuable?"

"You're everything, McCoy. A symbol for Spock's doom; a trophy showing me that I've fought my fate and won over my enemies. And you're so sweet when you're suffering..." Kirk stroked his face. "You were born to be possessed by stronger men, McCoy. You're never going to be free again, Sarek and Spock saw to that. All I do is care for you as they should've done."

"Spock...cared for me." The words slowly dropped over McCoy's tongue, almost unwilling to be borne.

Kirk kept stroking his face. "Did you forget the whipping scenes I've shown to you? The rape scenes? You were nothing but a piece of flesh for him."

"Isn't different...to this."

"Oh, I think it is."

McCoy shook his head, but it was like lead, dragging him down with its weight. "I still feel him. You won't get me...bastard. Bastard." He wanted to pull at the chain again, but it seemed too much effort.

"That why you'll get another dose. I just wanted you to realize how much more peaceful your life is with the right treatment."

"Peaceful? I laugh..." McCoy whispered, but his face muscles remained stuck in a painful frown. "It's you for who I'm only a piece of flesh."

"I only want to make you feel better, McCoy." Kirk motioned M'Benga. "The second half."

"How can you do that to me, doctor?" McCoy pleaded as the dark man closed in threateningly. "I don't know you. I never did anything to you."

"I don't care if you remember, but I do, McCoy," M'Benga said sharply. "And if it weren't for Kirk, I'd skin you alive," he added in a whisper as he pushed another hypo into McCoy's arm.

McCoy shivered from the open hate in those words, but then the drug dissipated in his blood; in the end, he stopped caring.


End file.
